A cheap Nick Hornby rip-off!

This weekend I attended a writer's group meeting in Wilmington. This particular group meeting was held at one of my very favoritest independent bookstores, Pomegranate Books. While I was there, even though I've taken a vow to not buy books, I couldn't help myself. You see, I'm always eager to support a good cause by buying books, and I consider Pomegranate--an independent, progressive, community-oriented shop--a very good investment.

With this vigor to help the community in mind, I indulged a new obsession. The Essay (preferably of the personal variety). Elise has been a huge fan of the essay for years, even did her thesis on New Media and the essay, and it appears she's finally rubbed off on me in a big way. And, truthfully, I often wonder if I'd be better cut out to write essays, sundry columns and social critique than fiction. I have a big mouth, a sharp tongue (and fingers?), and I'm pretty snarky when caught in the right mood, so why not? Anyway, I indulged my new addiction with two purchases:

-The Polysyllabic Spree, by Nick Hornby, a collection of 14 installments of his column from The Believer magazine.

-Stranger Than Fiction: True Stories, by Chuck Palahniuk. For those of you who aren't familiar, he wrote Fight Club, and all of his fiction that I've read is equally, if not more, twisted than that. I can only venture a guess at how crazy his essays will be. In truth, I read through the first one, "Testy Festy," a short chronicle of his experience at a Montana testicle festival, that made me sort of want to die. But I'll press on.

The entire point of this post, is my admiration for Hornby's book. His column is a monthly chronicle of the books he's brought into his home and those that he actually reads. To any tried and true bibliophile the amassing of books is a sacred ritual. I, my self, only me, own approximately 400 unread books. I think. I haven't counted in a while and I shudder to think.

In the spirit of Hornby's monthly ritual, I'm going to do something similar here. Not only will you get a taste of my precious book hoarding, you'll also get a monthly recap of the books I've ingested. I have a shameful tendency to forget to review the books I read (even though I add them to the sidebar), so these will be bite-sized reviews for you to take and do with what you will. And, as we're seeing another perfectly good month to an end, what better time to start?

Andi's August Reads (2007, just in case you'd forgotten)

The Dying Animal, by Philip Roth - 8.5/10 - A fantastic, if
sometimes frustrating, book about a professor/intellectual celebrity
and his dalliances. However, as he ages, he finds that he begins to
fall for one woman in a way he hadn't been able to before. All is
not pleasant as he finds himself in the midst of an obsession. More
than anything, The Dying Animal is about aging, the death of
sexuality, and the death of vigor.

Unmasqued, by Colette Gale - 7/10 - An erotic (not to be confused
with romantic) retelling of The Phantom of the Opera. Gale takes lots
of new directions with the story, but this was a decadent good time.
Look for a review in this month's Estella's Revenge.

Eclipse, by Stephenie Meyer - 9.5 of 10 - Pure enjoyment! I love
this series, and I got my hands on this book as quickly as I could.
I was not disappointed, as so many were, because I saw this story's
twist coming from a mile away! (I won't say more than that to avoid
spoiling.) While I do have issues with facets of Meyer's writing, I
just can't resist the characters.

Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami - 10 of 10 - This one will likely
be one of my top 10 of the year. Murakami's story of a Japanese
college student coming of age is often compared to the penultimate
coming of age novel, The Catcher in the Rye. However, that
comparison is pretty vague because the books are dramatically
different. Toru, Norwegian Wood's protagonist, is almost like a
blank slate compared to his friends and acquaintances. Instead of
judging those around him as so many written teens and young adults
do, Toru absorbs the life and habits of those around him, holding
the story together with his endearing honesty and openness. I also
understand that this is one of Murakami's most "normal" novels. I'm
really excited to read others and see what he has up his sleeve.

So, yes, four books read in August. While it's sad in comparison to the nine or so books I knocked off in July, I've had to work. I've gotta make a livin', people!

The sadder state of affairs is the sheer number of books that have wormed their way into the house this month (and I'm sure B. would throw up in his mouth a little if he read this). While, admittedly, it's not as bad as last month, they're still stacking up at an alarming rate:

-Reading Comics and What They Mean, by Douglas Wolk (review book)
-Hauntings and Other Tales of Danger, Love, and Sometimes Loss, by Betsy Hearne (review book)
-Blood and Chocolate, by Annette Curtis Klause (BookMooch)
-Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami (from a Shelfari recommendation)
-Freaks: Alive on the Inside, by Annette Curtis Klause (Carl V.'s enabling and BookMooch)
-O Pioneers!, by Willa Cather (gift card!)
-Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne (gift card!)
-A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson (a gift, thanks, Les!)
-Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac, by Gabrielle Zevin (a gift, thanks, Heather F.!)
...and the two books of essays I mentioned before, of course.

Now, the up side to all of this is that I spent very little money. I'm tickled to have publishers that want to send me stuff for Estella's Revenge and really good friends who throw books at me. Not to mention BookMooch, which I affectionately call "the crack house."

In other (abbreviated) news, school is going fine. Week two is drawing to a close and I'm still standing. Except that I'm lying in the floor typing this. But that's neither here nor there. Work life is good, home life is good, creative life is good. I really can't complain.

With that, I'm off to teach a night class. Behave!

Move over Hugh Laurie, there's a literary crush in town!

No spoilers! I wouldn't do that to you!

That's right, folks, one of the most delightful things has happened. Stephenie Meyer's new young adult novel, Eclipse, arrived on my doorstep (quite literally) from Amazon last week. I spent a few days finishing a review book for Estella's Revenge, and finally cracked the spine (figuratively) on Eclipse Friday afternoon. As of last night around 6:00 pm Eastern time, I turned the last page in tears and sighed a sigh of the truly satisfied and slightly heartbroken.

What's all the fuss about? A new literary crush, of course!

As you might have imagined, I've had something of a literary girl-crush on Estella of Great Expectations for a number of years now. I'll give you a minute to absorb the shock. I know, I know, you wouldn't have guessed if I hadn't told you.

Before I delve into the details of my obsession, let's talk a bit about the literary crush in general. For most of the bookish women I know, the most prevalent crush is on Mr. Darcy of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice fame. For there's something so perfectly, distractingly, fascinatingly wonderful about Mr. Darcy that the bookworm girls of the world have a hard time leaving him to his respective pages. For he is a man so wonderfully written that he jumps right off the page and into our collective hearts and panties. He's suave, he's smart, he's just a bit of a jackass, and he loves Lizzie. Awww. It makes us swoon. Swoon I tell you.

And my new literary crush, while certainly not a classic, is good enough for me. He is one of Stephenie Meyer's characters from her Twilight series, and he's played the biggest role thus far in Eclipse. His name, Jacob Black, his ancestry, werewolf.

As he's described in the book, Jacob is a member of the Quileute tribe--6'7" tall with russett skin and shaggy black hair. That's one tall drink of water, kids. And beyond the yummy physical description, we get the angst. As a Quileute and a werewolf, he's forever the mortal enemy of any vampire, even the (relatively) innocent Cullen family. Which means he's the sworn enemy of Edward Cullen, Bella Swann's, our protagonist's, true lurv.

Twisted? Oh yes. High school? Yep.

Does it matter? Hell no!

There's something so wonderfully tragic and sweet about Jacob that I just can't help but want to manhandle hug him. He's the best underdog (pardon the pun) that I've read in a very long time, and I can't help but wish he'd jump off the page and play space heater for me on a cold cold night.

Did I just type that out loud?

Anyway, if you've had any inclination to read Meyer's Twilight series, get your butt off the couch and run down to the nearest bookstore (or Wal-Mart) to pick it up. While Meyer's writing leaves a little something to be desired at times (some overused expressions, etc.) it doesn't matter. The story is involving and wonderful and if you're a hopeless romantic like myself, you will totally dig it. You'll be giggling like a 16-year-old girl before it's all said and done. Even you guy readers. Don't be scared. Embrace it.

The Question of Planning

I wrote a novel when I was fourteen years old. If you really want to call it that. I was recovering from a childhood full of paranormal thrillers and romances by the likes of Christopher Pike, R.L. Stine and L.J. Smith. While I refuse, at the ripe ole age of 26, to look back on those authors with any ill will or embarrassment (I still re-read the L.J. Smith titles occasionally), I was definitely familiar with and fond--at the time--of formulaic plots. As a result, I got the itch to write a novel. It was a thrilling, if somewhat poorly executed, paranormal/Christian thriller type mess.

I remember sitting down at a very old word processor (not a wordprocessing program, kids, a word processor with a screen *thisbig*). I toiled away for several months sitting in front of my teeny-tiny monitor cranking out pages of single-spaced text about the heroine, Tori, and her boyfriend who looked oddly like a character from a Saturday morning teen comedy. Think Saved by the Bell, but worse. Finally, at the end of the four-month endeavor I had 86 pages of that single-spaced novel and a heart full of hope that one day, ONE DAY I might be as good as L.J. Smith.

Now, admittedly, my perspective has changed a bit. While I still enjoy the occasional fluffy romance, I'm much more interested in "literary" fiction, whatever that is by the likes of Philip Roth, Ali Smith, Siri Hustvedt and Paul Auster. I read with a feeling of wonder at how exactly they grab me by the nosehairs and keep me rapt.

Now, as I sit down to write my novel, I do so with a sense of fear that I didn't feel as a teen. I wrote that first novel with a sense of wild abandon, of committing myself to the page wholeheartedly. I didn't think too much about plot, I just let it unfold as it would. I cried when I read the emotionally heavy passages. I did all those things, as a teen, that I think I'm supposed to do now. That "real" authors say that they do.

Now I find myself planning. Planning planning planning. Scribbling, thinking, pondering, connecting the dots in my head. I can't help but wonder if I should stop thinking so much and just write.

Somehow I think that maybe I'm missing the mark on both counts; that there's some fine line between completely unprepared writing and overly planned writing.

If I find the line, you all will be the first to know...

Trucking right along...

Thank God for that notebook. Really. I've been jotting down character traits, character history, fine details and more vignette ideas almost constantly. A long car ride tends to yield the most fruitful thought because what else is there to do in a rural area while driving alone? Not much, let me tell ya.

It's been extremely hard to get on top of my freelance articles this week because the book is pulling at my attention constantly.

I hope to commit more actual novel to paper this weekend or early next week. As of now, I still only have a rough ending.

Oh, and apparently people are actually linking to this blog which is more than a little surprising to me given the lack of serious posting thus far. So, in the grand tradition of narcissism, I shall post here more often so those of you linking lovelies will have something of my drivel to read!